


8 Times Mickey Flies Off The PDA Scale And One Time He Proved It.

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: Take my hand--Take My Whole life too [33]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:56:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3821218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ian hadn't noticed it, really, he didn't even expect it. Mickey's public affection had been flying over the PDA scale."</p><p>Prompt: Mickey has gotten comfortable with PDA. Really comfortable. And Ian LOVES it.""</p>
            </blockquote>





	8 Times Mickey Flies Off The PDA Scale And One Time He Proved It.

**Author's Note:**

> loved this prompt!! Thankyouuu, I really hope its okay???? 
> 
> I'm a little hungover and will be editing it tomorrow when I don't feel like death ahahaha

 

It had been a year since Ian's diagnosis, the shitty break-up, Mickey and Ian finally understanding how much they need each other, despite how much they hurt each other. They had at-least tried to be happy, they knew that no one could be completely happy living in the Chicago slum, so they never expected to wake up in the morning whining about the empty jar of coffee.

 

Ian hadn't noticed it, really, he didn't even expect it. Mickey's public affection had been flying over the PDA scale – that Ian didn't really know existed, because Mickey never really shown his emotional or feelings out in the open, just in private in the safety of four walls and the cheesy smile on Ian's face. But, it had become evident that Mickey displayed way more than he did, in almost every situation; both noticed and unnoticed.

 

_**Hand Holding** _

 

They rounded the corner in the direction to the Alibi, both their hands stuffed in their pockets. It's mid-winter and mists were forming before their faces each time they spoke. Mickey nudges Ian a little with his shoulder, looking away before Ian actually notices he's being flirtatious. Now, that would be irritating. Ian smirks to himself, shaking his head as Mickey starts to walk a head.

 

“What the fuck?” Mickey yells, huffing out with frustration as his eyes catch onto the crowd gathering around the front door of the local bar. There were a couple of reasons why numbers of scruffy looking doll-money scroungers were hovering around in the street; One, Kevin had made some new bargain sale – in which a person gets a free shot for each gram of weed they bought. Two, the girls upstairs were back in business and it was obvious their wives weren't tugging them off. Three; they just wanted to piss Mickey off and knew crowds irritated him to shit.

 

“What the hell is going on? Looks like a recruitment station.” Ian mumbles next to him, narrowing his eyes towards the loud noise of several – more than several – voices that were slowly growing louder.

 

Mickey pulls out a smoke, lighting it up. “I don't know and I really don't give a shit.” He walks forward, rolling his shoulders in preparation for assholes – that he knew would try something, just because – Ian trails behind, already sighing in realisation that Mickey was ready to start something. He stays close to his back, ready to pounce if needed to.

 

“Move the fuck on, dickheads, this ain't a fucking train station!” Mickey yells, holding his hand against the side of his mouth to increase the volume. Once he realises it wasn't exactly working, he steps closer to one of the irritating fucks that wouldn't stop shouting. Ian's hand falls to his shoulder as he grits his teeth. “You all better back the fuck off or I'm going to start breaking kneecaps.”

 

“Mick.” Ian demands, hand pulling the older boy backwards.

 

Mickey shoves the firm hand away from his body, cracking his neck gruffly. “Fine, whatever.” He mutters under his breath, still trying to break through the crowd. As much as he and Ian tried to push through, the front door to the Alibi wasn't getting any closer.

 

Ian rolls his eyes, ready to tell Mickey that they should just leave, until he feels a familiar hand slide into his own. His eyes nearly pop out of his head, mouth dropping a gape at the warm, rough skin that stuck against his own. Mickey didn't look back, his fingers twitching around Ian's, as he pulled Ian through the crowd with him. Ian wanted to say something, wanted to crack a smile, maybe even laugh – but he was still in shock that Mickey Milkovich held his hand, his hand.

 

That's when his mental authority went out the window and he ended up smiling all the way around the brim of his whisky smelling glass.

 

**_Hugging_ **

 

It wasn't like Mickey never hugged him; he always did in moments of fear, emotion, usually when Ian was freaking out because of his med's. Ian always loved the feel of Mickey's arms wrapped around his back, chest squished against his own, face mashed into the skin of his shoulder. Somehow, when Mickey hugged him he felt more at home than he ever did under his own roof.

 

Ian was stirring the soup Svetlana had been making around in the steaming pot, his shirt whipped over his shoulder as his chest heaved with sweat. The whether was like a roll of a dice; unexpected, and mostly disappointing. Even though he loved the heat, he really hated slimming down just because the heat was stripping him from his skin.

 

The front door slams out, echoed by a grunt. Ian hides his smile in the sudden mist of steam, his heart literally pounding out of his chest, like it did every time Mickey entered the room. The brunette passed Mandy, who was busy ripping into her black jeans, he flips her off and walks over to Ian.

 

“Why the fuck are we eating soup when we're sweating our balls off?” Mickey whines, dipping his finger into the hot liquid.

 

Ian shrugs, still not turning around to look at his boyfriend. “Because 'Lana made it, we fuck this up she'll fuck us up.” Which was true; the last time Mickey declined food from the Russian, it ended all over his lap. That, they don't really talk about.

 

Mickey lets out a snort, suddenly turning Ian against the kitchen counter, causing the redhead to drop the wooden spoon he had been holding back into the pot. Ian's eyes widen, but a smirk still plays on his lips, his fingers slowly creep around Mickey's chest – expecting that Ian was going to launch into a kiss, or bite at his skin, but this time he got a different reaction. A non-Mickey Milkovich reaction.

 

The brunette pulls Ian roughly towards him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Mickey bashes his face against the sweaty-skin of Ian's shoulder, gasping in the air around them. Their chests collide and the hug seems like its lasting forever – not that either of them mind. Ian's arms finally loop around Mickey's waist as he rests his chin against Mickey's shoulder, his lips gently kissing the side of Mickey's neck.

 

“What is this?” Ian laughs, not moving from his position.

 

He can feel Mickey tense beneath him, but he finally relaxed when Ian's hands trail up the brunettes back and down the curve of his spine. “Can I not fucking hug you now? Is that a problem?” Mickey pulls away slightly, just enough to catch Ian's lob-sided grin that meant everything.

 

“I don't know, Is it?” Ian challenges, loving the coolness of Mickey's fingers against his back. More than that, he loved the warmth radiating off Mickey's skin, despite the fact that they were almost dying in the heat. Mickey pinches the skin of his back, hands lowering towards Ian's perky ass.

 

“God, get a fucking room.” Mandy pretends to gip behind them, chucking her empty bowl into the sink. “I've just eaten you dicks.” She shoves at their shoulders, swatting Ian as he sticks out his tongue in retaliation.

 

“Yeah, we're in one.” Mickey states back, twisting his neck in order to see Mandy.

 

Mandy hits the back of his head, scoffing under her breath. “Specifically one that I'm not in.”

 

“Sorry Mands.” Ian laughs, burying his face back into Mickey's shirt. Mickey doesn't release his hold – He never worried about Mandy, she had never judged them, she always told them straight-up what they needed to do, and if they were being assholes. Without Mandy they wouldn't be there.

 

“Yeah, whatever.” She waves him off, smirking in her own way. “Fuck on the counter, or whatever you two freaks do these days. I'm going to sleep and if you wake me up I'll stab both of your dicks.”She shudders in a vision of actually witnessing her brothers dick, and walks down the hall dramatically slamming her door shut.

 

Ian was still trapped within the trance of Mickey's arms curled around him to feel Mickey's urgent hands against his hips. “You going to fuck me on the counter or what, Firecrotch?”

 

 

**_Light pecks_ **

 

Ian's at the kitchen counter when he hears Mickey rush down the Gallagher stairs. He's busy, engrossed within a cup of coffee that helped with the burn after his run. The tired, worn down Milkovich storms through, flipping Lip off who was still sat at the dinner table, before running up to Ian and grabbing his cup of hot liquid.

 

“Hey!” Ian yells, pouting his bottom lip as Mickey wiggles his eyebrows whilst taking a gulp. “Get your own.” He pulls it back, holding it protectively against his sweaty-tank that he hadn't bothered to take off yet.

 

“Can't, in a rush to go tend fucking whores.” Mickey ploughs through his words, smacking his pockets frantically to check he had everything. Ian nods towards the edge of the counter where Mickey's keys were left from the night before (in which Ian fucked him so hard, they had to make sure the keys were in safe distance.)

 

Lip scoffs from the table, spoon feeding Liam across the table. “Really fucking inspiring.”

 

“Fuck off.” Both Ian and Mickey shout from behind the curly-haired Gallagher. Mickey grits his teeth and greets the back of Lips head with his middle finger. Ian laughs, hands cradling the warm cup in his hands. “You coming back?” Ian asks, still a little cautious that maybe one day Mickey might actually realise he could do so much better.

 

Mickey's eyebrows hit his hairline. “No, I'm going to fucking Disney Land.” He remains sarcastic, shooting Lip a hard glare before he could include his input on it all. Ian's lips press into a straight line, eyes slightly glazing. Mickey scratches the back of his head, forgetting how sensitive and insecure Ian's new dose of pills made him. “Why the fuck you asking, idiot? Of course I'm coming back.”

 

“You promise?” Ian pleads, hands till wrapped around his mug like a shield. Mickey's eyes were genuine, but it didn't stop him from wondering how better off Mickey would be without his ass-dragging him down. But Mickey was Mickey, no one told a Milkovich what to do.

 

“Jeez, Ian. He's not fucking going anywhere. Stop trying to scare him off.” Lip jokes from the table, awaiting a slap to the head – in which he didn't merely feel shock when it was Mickey's hand colliding against his crown. “Alright, fucking hell. Go back to being soppy pricks while I do all the work around here.”

 

“Like you do anything but fuck that college tutor of yours.” Ian plays back, grinning at his own insult. He'd never stop pulling Lip's leg about the fifty-shades swingers shit Lip happened to plant himself under; both literally and metaphorically.

 

Lips yells back a pathetic insult, that Ian doesn't address when his mug is taken from his hands again. Mickey sighs heavily, passing the cup back. “Speaking of work- which I actually do by the way-” He yells backwards, in the designated direction of Lip. “I've got to go, see you later back at my place?”

 

Ian nods and watches as Mickey smacks his pockets once more. Its a precise moment where his lips nearly touch the brim of his mug before Mickey replaces it with his lips. The brunette places a chaste, peck against his lips, one hand cupping the back of his neck. “Right, I'm going. Wish me fucking luck.” Then Mickey's gone, and all that's left is Ian's blushed, shocked face.

 

Did Mickey just peck his lips? Like a domestic I'm-going-to-work kiss that only existed in shitty romantic comedies?

 

“Fucking married couple.” Lip mutters, barging past Ian to dump a plate into the sink.

 

“Fuck off.” Ian retreats back, tilting his head questioningly. Was it that noticeable? He still couldn't get around how domestic and open Mickey was becoming – it felt new, exciting but it didn't stop him from trying to guess where it was all coming from.

 

Lip scoffs,smacking Ian on the back. “Seriously man, next minute you two will be rocking up with twelve fucking kids, telling us how you painted your white picket fence.”

 

To Ian, that didn't sound like a bad thing.

 

**_Pet names;_ **

 

It was the Gallagher weekly film night. Ian had forced Mickey to join him, basically dragged him from the warmth of their bed and pushed him into a seat surrounded by Gallagher's. Ian didn't really want to face them alone, they were his family but he never really remembered doing anything without Mickey constantly at his back.

 

“Anyone want anything whilst I'm getting up?” Ian asks politely, scanning each Gallagher who sat around the room. Carl was to engulfed with the explosions and schemes on the screen to care. Debbie was out with her boyfriend, whilst Fiona and Gus were cooped up on the sofa opposite. Lip was already passed out against the single and Liam was already in bed. When there was no answer, Ian shrugged and stepped up until he felt a firm grip against his wrist.

 

“Can you get me a beer, babe?” Mickey asks, almost sweetly if it wasn't for his devious grin. Ian could tell Mickey was a little drunk, but as the older boys words slurred it got even more adorable.

 

Then he realised the pet name. Did they use those now? “Babe?” He asks, turning to Fiona who just shrugged and snuggled further into Gus' arms. Ian pulls face, turning around to look back at his grinning boyfriend.

 

Mickey acts oblivious to the question. “Yeah?” He shoots back, instantly thinking Ian was just addressing him like it was normal. He didn't hate the fact Mickey called him “babe” he fucking loved the fact that he did. But he would have never expected it to happen infront of a room full of Gallagher's – passed out or engrossed in bombs, either way, they were there.

 

“Nothing.” He smiles. His heart flushing under his skin, beating harshly against his chest. Mickey made it hard to breathe sometimes, even when he spoke such simple words.

 

 

 

**_Space invasion_ **

 

Ian would have never put Mickey as a cling-on, or a cuddlier for that fact, but he had recently noticed – prior to Carl openly pointing it out to him – that Mickey really liked to stick at his side, wherever they went. At home – even if there was no one around – Mickey would curl himself next to Gallagher, making sure at least one part of him was touching him. At the Gallagher house he would tuck his leg underneath Ian's, a hand placed onto his knee to some-what ground him. Now they were sat on a train, in a midst of people, not so crowded but definitely not empty either.

 

Mickey had pushed himself right into Ian's side, his shoulder literally embedding itself into Ian's. His hand was curled around his knee, squeezing it every time the carriage shook a little. Ian had even caught a couple of moments where Mickey's head leaned on to him, not by accident but purposely. Ian had gasped, kept his smile within, but at the moment where a lady across smiled briefly at them – the only genuine person around there – and Mickey nodded back, scooting his side into Ian's once more, tangling his leg under Ian's calf, he couldn't help but feel his heart burst out with fireworks of admiration.

 

**_Ass Smacks_ **

 

“Why did you take so much shit, Jesus, it must be a ton in here.” Ian whined, carrying yet another cardboard box from the stacks outside their get-away-van. Mickey and Iggy had pleaded he drive them there; apparently because he didn't look as shifty as they did, and obviously they knew if anything did go down Ian was the only one who win over with charm.

 

“We need the money.” Mickey argues, jumping in the back of the van after Ian and placing another box with the rest of the load. Iggy follows after them, cracking his back after he dumps a box full of junk with theirs. “Why didn't you rob a fucking bank then?”

 

Iggy smacks Ian's back. “Because Mickey's a dumb fuck who'd get us killed if we even tried to do that.” He shoves Ian in the direction of the stacks, flipping Mickey off with a sneering grin as he followed.

 

Ian's bent down over one stack, hand reaching into the junk. Mickey takes it as a oppuntity to casually check his ass out – the perfect round cushion, that perked the rest of Ian's body. That he wouldn't mind clawing his hand and mouth in-...

 

“Don't act too fucking subtle.” Iggy scoffs, shoving a box straight into Mickey's chest. Mickey takes a little time to departure his lock against the ass flaunting in-front of them and plants the heavy load down. He rushes out of the van, jumping from the height – Iggy in tow – and without thinking he smacks Ian's ass harshly, giggling when the redhead turned with a glare, one hand on his ass.

 

Ian smirks mischievously. “You wanna play like that, tough guy?” He flexes himself, rolling back his shoulders as his ass stings a little. Mickey nods, biting the corner of his mouth. “What you gonna do about it?” Mickey yells back, forgetting that his brother was literally bang in the middle of it.

 

“Right, hold the fuck up.” Iggy clasps a hand over his eyes. “I just saw my brother smack Ian's fucking ass, and now they're gonna fuck in our get-away-van.” He tries to move, bumping into yet another stack of raw boxes. “Warn a guy next time, will ya?”

 

“A smack to his ass not clear enough for you?” Mickey answers playfully.

 

“It's more than enough.”

 

 

**_Hair touching_ **

 

“You seen my shiv?” Debbie rushes around the kitchen table, flipping over papers, searching underneath plates. She had already turned the front room upside down trying to find her prize protection. “God, I swear If Carl has taken it again.”

 

“This?” Mickey pulls out a shiv from a stack of pencils Liam was occupying himself with infront of Mickey. Debbie gasps, eyes widening with gratitude, she runs over and takes it from Mickey's hand that isn't in Ian's hair. “Why do you do that?” Debbie asks, curious.

 

Mickey's hand is curling around the soft strands of red hair, tangling themselves in the morning curls that never failed to pop out just after Ian got up. They both look towards Debbie, a little confused because that question could have revolved around anything. “Do what?” Ian asks, cautiously, stabbing his fork into his eggs before him.

 

“Why does he touch your hair and everything, he does it a lot.” The red-headed girl asked, wondering why she hadn't been doing that with her boyfriend. Was it acceptable to just grab onto his hair and scratch his scalp?

 

Ian shoots Mickey a look of answer-this-now and Debbie laughs. The two were such a pair, it was ultimately hard to explain how they fit so well. Mickey groans, wiping his mouth with his freehand. “Oh, I don't know really. Maybe because I fucking want to, it ain't a crime to touch someone’s hair.”

 

“It's cute.” Debbie watches in awe, nudging Ian's leg when the older Gallagher starts to blush between chews. Mickey snorts, hand still stuck within the mess on Ian's head. “It ain't fucking cute.”

 

“It kinda is, Mick.” Ian interjects, backing Debbies statement up. It was always fun winding him up – it never got old.

 

Mickey tugs a little at his hair. He didn't do cute, that wasn't his thing. All he wanted to do was touch the soft hair of his boyfriend, he wanted to hear Ian's sharp gasps as he massages into his scalp, his fingers rubbing against the tense skin that pulled against his hair. “Gallagher.” He warns.

 

“What?” Both Debbie and Ian call back, both giving him that look that only existed between the two. It was like he was seeing double vision, the two acted the same, they were twins in being persistent and they both clicked on ways to piss him right the fuck off.

 

Ian relishes in the awkward, blushing Milkovich next to him, trying not to groan at Mickey's fingers and how open he was being with his sister. God, he loved this new Mickey as much as he loved the old one.

 

“Fuck you.” Mickey snaps back, softly – too softly – trying to block out the instant laughter that echoed through the kitchen.

 

**_Forehead kisses_ **

 

Ian hadn't expected it. It all came on too fast. They always did. One second he was fine, cooking dinner, laughing at Lips pointless jokes, until he realised Mickey hadn't text him in two days – he had been gone for some run and obviously, Ian's mind had taken over – he had been stood in the kitchen when the panic creeped in. The panic that Mickey might never come back. The panic that Mickey might be hurt and Ian couldn't do anything about it.

 

He's shaking, a lot, he can't feel his fingers. He can't feel anything. They were all surrounding him, hushing words that both sounded like bullshit and faded to him. That's until he heard the front door swing open, a urgent pad of feet and then cool hands against his heated, heaving chest.

 

“Jesus Christ, Ian.” Mickey whispers, hands trying to steady Ian from rocking against his curled position against the floor. “What happened, can you talk, tell me what fucking happened?”

 

Ian's voice is barely audible, his throat clogging at each word. “I th-thought you-u – you didn't-t call, you-u-” He tried to push through the tears, but he knew now that nothing was stopping them from leaking against his face. Nothing but Mickey.

 

“Shit.” Mickey rubs the back of his head, pulling Ian closer to his body. “I'm okay, I'm here. I ain't fucking leaving, alright?” He tried to calm him, letting the younger boys head rest against his chest. All the Gallagher's were watching were both shock and awe, wondering how Mickey could calm Ian down so quickly and so smoothly.

 

Mickey doesn't give a shit, they could see this. He runs a hand down the side of Ian's cheek, wiping away the tears that soon fled from his eyes. “It's okay, fuck – its okay.” He really hated Ian's panic attacked, he hated how fragile Ian turned, how lost his eyes looked. One of his arms loop around Ian's shoulder, resting him closer as he slips against the floor falling, pulling him between his legs.

 

Ian can feel himself lose heat, he can feel himself reducing in panic as Mickey's arm wrap around him. His eyes catch the others watching them, and through his cracked surface he was still able to feel his heart warm, his lips tug creakily into a smile. Mickey leans down and places a kiss against his head, lips lingering over the skin for a while. Ian can't help but curl in further – if he wasn't lucky to have Mickey, he didn't know what he was lucky for.

 

**_The three words... (+1)_ **

 

They were all stumbling home; the Gallagher's, the Milkoviches, the Balls, and they were all horrendously drunk out of their minds. Lip had already fell over a couple of curbs, Kevin had already started on the lets-sing-till-we-puke stage and Ian was literally slumped at Mickey's side, his height pushing Mickey in all of the wrong directions.

 

“Walk straight, Jesus.” Mickey pushes the redhead towards the side-walk, making sure he didn't just wonder into the middle of the road. Protective, he knew.

 

Ian shushes him with a swaying finger against his lips. “I have something to tell you.”

 

“Secrets, I fucking love secrets!” Veronica yells, close enough to hear Ian basically shout into Mickey's ear. The rest surround them, trying to be subtle but failing in all points. Mickey scans, the buzz in his mind sending him fearless notions that shoved him to what he wanted to say.

 

“I love you.” Mickey blurts, his voice louder than he intended. It was the first time, in a long time, that his heart felt relief.

 

Ian beams, his drooping eyes suddenly shooting open. It wasn't the first time he had heard those words, Mickey hushed them enough for Ian to know it was true, but infront and everyone they knew. Was this real? “I love you too, Mickey Milkovich.” But Ian did really yell, his voice echoed around the block – even Frank probably heard it and he was sleeping in a ditch somewhere.

 

“How fucking cute-”

 

“Oh my god, they love eachother-”

 

“Who has cloned Mickey Milkovich-”

 

"What the fuck did I miss?-" Lip is the last one to shout, grumbling against his intoxicated state.

 

Ian slams his lips into Mickey, ignoring the rambling going on around them. His hand curls around Mickey's waist, tucking itself under the waistband of his jeans. The brunette groans into the kiss, turning his head in line with Ian's, catching each breath with Ian's. It was breath taking, it was real, for the fact Mickey actually was willing to show how much those words meant to him. The brunette opened up to him, just like always, his arm looping around Ian's neck dragging him closer, his tongue flickering against the blooded cut that reopened against Ian's bottom lip.

 

“Shit, that's hot.” They hear a voice in the background – Mickey swore it was Kevin, he wasn't too sure and didn't really care, as long as he had Ian and his lips he was all in the clear.

 

They kiss for a while, Ian leaning back sloppily against a lamppost, his shirt riding at the front. Mickey's between his legs, kissing into his mouth urging, hips rocking against Ian's. The others had trailed on, after ten minutes of watching the two, and it left them both in the cold – but warm – night.

 

Ian pulls away, licking his lips. “You really fucking love me.” He states, all the signs clear as day now. Mickey actually loved him. Him. It was all he ever wanted, all he ever dreamed of, years and years of hard-work, struggle, fights and it all paid off in the end.

 

Mickey smirks, a gentle hand cupping Ian's lolling head. “I'm glad you fucking noticed.”


End file.
